


Kitten

by lurkinglurkerwholurks



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Child Hoarder, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Gen, I Don't Even Know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-27 11:57:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18194294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lurkinglurkerwholurks/pseuds/lurkinglurkerwholurks
Summary: Bruce opened his mouth, prepared to give the unemotional, no-nonsense explanation he had cobbled together between his walk to the car and now. Instead, his mouth went dry and nothing came out.“Bruce?”Bruce was saved from answering by the thin cry that cut through the silence. He winced, then reached back with one hand to shush the dimpled, kicking legs.“Bruce, tell me I did not just hear what I thought I heard.”





	Kitten

The decision was a spontaneous one. Rare, for Bruce, but not as rare as some might think. Nor were his decisions—including this one—as free from consideration as the label “spontaneous” might imply. While it was true that Bruce liked to put more deliberate, conscious thought into his life choices, the pieces had already been there, facts lurking in his subconscious like mayfly larva. When the moment had arisen, those facts had sprouted wings and coalesced into a swarm. Besides, it wasn’t like he didn’t have a history of making this kind of choice before.

Bruce’s mental to-do list, which had been only dozens of items long an hour ago, was now unspooling to comical lengths, like a magician’s handkerchief pulled from a sleeve. Items would need to be bought, calls made, meetings rearranged, and official documents signed. The to-dos were comforting. Bruce appreciated practical actions with clear results, and the rolling list in his head helped keep the weight of his decision at arm’s length.

That distance would disappear the moment the phone stopped ringing. Bruce drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel as the tinny, digital noise filled the car. As pressing as his other matters were, this was at the top of Bruce’s to-do list. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes as before, even if it had taken him multiple times to learn his lesson.

“Bruce!” Dick’s voice was bright and warm, flooding through the interior like sunshine. “I’m not forgetting a lunch date, am I?” He always answered the phone like whoever was calling was his favorite person in the whole world. Sometimes Bruce almost believed it, and even now, despite his own anxieties, he found his lips twitching upward at the corners.

“No, chum,” Bruce assured him. “Do you have a second?”

“Hold on.” The background chatter of the precinct died down almost immediately as Dick stepped into another space, likely a back hallway or supply closet. “Is everything okay?”

“Everyone is fine,” Bruce promised. He didn’t know how long that would last, once he arrived home, but for now, he could promise that much.

He could hear Dick shifting, probably settling against a wall or filing cabinet, before prodding, “No offense, but you’re not one for mid-day, no-reason calls. What’s up?”

Bruce opened his mouth, prepared to give the unemotional, no-nonsense explanation he had cobbled together between his walk to the car and now. Instead, his mouth went dry and nothing came out.

“Bruce?”

Bruce was saved from answering by the thin cry that cut through the silence. He winced, then reached back with one hand to shush the dimpled, kicking legs.

“Bruce, tell me I did not just hear what I thought I heard.” Dick’s voice was flat and preternaturally calm, a detective arriving at the scene of a crime, analyzing and struggling to withhold judgement.

“You were my first call.” Bruce offered the fact quickly, an olive branch to shelter under. He kept one hand on the wheel, one hand on the fussing baby in the backseat, and his focus on getting through this call. “I know I… haven’t handled this sort of thing well before. With you.”

He was fumbling, words turning to sludge on his lips, gumming up with guilt and regret. It was always like that, for him. It was one of the reasons Bruce preferred the cowl. No one expected heartfelt speeches from a wraith out of Gotham’s darkest nightmares. Kids, though. Kids expected those sorts of things from their parents.

“Alfred’s next,” Bruce finished clumsily. “But you were first.”

The silence stretched so long that Bruce was afraid he had dropped the call.

Then Dick’s voice returned, uncertain but—as far as Bruce could tell—not angry. “So what am I getting? A new little brother?”

“Sister.” Bruce’s mouth suddenly felt dry again. He forgot, every time, how much taking the first step knocked him back. Whether it was deciding to take a child in, having one thrust upon him, or at last accepting one that had been around for a while, that choice would continue to crash over him like a wave for… well, he didn’t know how long. He still had days with each of his children when seeing them at the breakfast counter or curled up in the den surprised him.

_That’s a living thing,_ he would think, _and it’s mine,_ and he would be overwhelmed once more.

“Where’d you find her?” Dick asked.

“Not over the phone.” All of Bruce’s lines were secure, whether they were for civilian or cowl use, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Not with this child. Not with this promise. “Come by when you can. We’ll talk.”

“I’ll be by after my shift,” Dick hesitated audibly, breath catching in the back of his throat, then said, “A baby’s… different. Are you sure?”

“As sure as I’ve ever been,” Bruce replied, and even he wasn’t sure which meaning he was reaching for.

Whatever it was must have been enough, because Dick hummed contemplatively. “I hope you’ve been thinking about how you’re going to tell Damian.”

Bruce grimaced for the second time in as many minutes. “I’m working on it. He’ll be fine.”

Another hum, this one much less convinced. “I’ll be by to help after my shift,” Dick reminded him. “And Bruce? Thank you. For calling.”

It wasn’t the sort of thing a parent should be thanked for, but Bruce hadn’t been exaggerating. His track record with remembering to spread the word was abysmal, especially with Dick.

In the back, the baby began to fuss again, foot smacking against Bruce’s outstretched hand.

Bruce glanced into the rearview mirror, to the wide blue eyes that looked around curiously.

_At least you’re young,_ he thought. _If I mess up with you, you won’t know any better._

It was a wry thought, and a dishonest one. Bruce had no plans to mess up with this child. Then again, he never did.

“We’re almost home,” he murmured soothingly, trying to distract the baby by drumming his fingertips against her knee as his other hand guided the car through downtown traffic.

He would need to let Alfred know there would be a new inhabitant at the Manor. Plans would need to be made, rooms refurnished, schedules rearranged. And Bruce Wayne was well aware that while he might be brave enough to take on the likes of the Joker and Killer Croc, he was cowardly enough to make Alfred break the news to Damian before their arrival.

* * *

Alfred seemed to be taking the news in stride. Then again, it was difficult to tell with Alfred, even after decades of practice. Still, it was a relief to have Alfred greet him at the door as if this were just another ordinary day and Bruce was not standing with his neck bent as a small child tugged on fistfuls of his hair.

“Master Bruce. Young madam.” Alfred opened the door wide, nodding in turn to each as they stepped into the Manor. Only the curve of his eyebrow betrayed his curiosity, and even then only because he let it.

“Alfred.” Bruce shifted the baby in his arms and did his best not to wince at the strain on his roots. “Where is everyone?”

“Miss Cassandra is at dance practice—samba, I believe, today—and Master Timothy is out with Master Duke and young Mister Kent. As I did not think this to be the sort of news communicated over voicemail, I did not attempt to reach them.” As Alfred spoke, he was already transferring the diaper bag and small suitcase of clothes from Bruce’s arms to his own. “As for Master Damian—“

“Father!” Bruce turned to see his youngest striding toward them, lips set into a firm line of displeasure.

_Here we go._

The baby, for her part, paid Damian no heed. Bruce couldn’t see her directly, since her chubby fists were still gripping his hair, but he could see her reflection in the hall mirror. She was looking around with sedate interest, calm but alert, a monarch overlooking her domain. Or, Bruce realized with wry amusement, a cat eyeing a new box.

Daman stopped a yard away, arms tightly crossed. “So it’s true. You have acquired an _infant_.” He spat the word out as he might lukewarm tea.

Bruce had planned on gathering all his children in the den, explaining as briefly as he could the circumstances of the baby’s arrival, and letting them make each other’s acquaintance. But his day had yet to go to plan, so why start now.

Instead, he sighed softly and chose one of the uncomfortable chairs lining the main entryway. 

“Damian, come here and meet your new sister,” Bruce said as he shifted the baby to his lap. It was an uncomfortable maneuver, since he had to bend further, almost double, to ease the tugging on his scalp until he could loose those little hands.

Alfred, Bruce noticed when he could sit up straight again, had vanished, taking the baggage with him. Damian stayed where he was.

“I already have a sister,” he pointed out. Bruce was inclined to describe it as _petulantly_ , but Damian managed to keep his bottom lip sucked in, if only just. “You acquiring a stray does not make us family. What’s its name, anyways?”

Bruce hesitated, then said, “Her mother has been calling her Kitten.” At the name, the baby turned and looked up at Bruce with interest.

Damian, who had been inching forward, recoiled. “Kyle?! This is Selina Kyle’s baby?”

“That,” Bruce said, leveling his finger directly at his youngest son, “is information never to leave this house.”

Damian recoiled further, and Bruce let Batman fall from his shoulders like a loosened cape. With a sigh, he held out his open arm. “Come here.” When Damian hesitated, Bruce waved him in, and Damian came, scuffing his feet against the rug.

Bruce wrapped his arm around Damian’s middle and pulled the boy into his side. Damian turned away so he couldn’t look at the baby, who was gabbling to herself as she gummed on Bruce’s thumb. Bruce rested his jaw against Damian’s temple, both to keep the boy still and to keep his voice low. The Manor was the securest place in Gotham, other than the Cave, but he would not risk this. 

“Selina has been targeted,” Bruce explained. “Since the baby was born, there have been attempts. Multiple, though I don’t know how many. She called me to her apartment today… She wanted help placing the baby for adoption. She thought I would know the best agency, maybe pull some strings to find the best family. I offered an alternative.”

She hadn’t cried. Selina had stood in her apartment, baby on her hip, makeup done, and eyes completely dry as she asked Bruce for his help. She hadn’t needed to cry. This wasn’t a con, and Selina didn’t cry except by choice. Bruce didn’t need to be convinced that she was making the decision for the child, not herself. That she was asking for help at all was proof enough, even without the way her fingertips traced patterns across the baby’s knee as she spoke.

And when Bruce had made his offer, spontaneously but seriously, Selina hadn’t cried then either. Not when Bruce had explained that the baby would be cared for like his own flesh and blood, not when he had said Selina could come by to see her any time, day or night, and not when he had vowed that the baby would be protected and loved as best he knew how. She hadn’t needed to. The feather-soft kiss on his cheek, and then on the baby’s, just before they left was enough.

Damian shifted in Bruce’s hold, turning just enough to peer down at the child with narrowed, suspicious eyes. “Is she yours?”

Bruce let the question settle against his skin like mist before answering the same way he would again and again for years to come. “She is now.”

He didn’t know. He suspected Selina truly didn’t either. Whatever the case, it didn’t matter, in the same way it didn’t matter that his blood didn’t course through Dick’s veins, that he wasn’t responsible for Jason’s broad shoulders or Tim’s blue eyes or Cassie’s dark hair or Duke’s dimples. They were his. And now this child was, too.

Damian considered the answer, then grumbled, “I still say this is a foolish whim.”

“Foolish or not, she is part of my life now, and yours.” Bruce had expected this from Damian, who was used to being the youngest. Fortunately, that also meant he’d used his time in the car to formulate a method of attack.

“I will need your help, Damian, more than anyone’s.”

Damian leaned away to stare up into Bruce’s face. “Mine?”

Bruce returned his gaze steadily and nodded. “Yes. She is coming here because she is in danger. We must all watch out for her, but other than Alfred, you are home the most. It will be your duty to protect her, and not just from those who wish her harm.”

Bruce turned the baby on his knee so Damian could look at her—her soft skin, her weak limbs, her innocent eyes, and the thick thatch of black hair that waved and curled across her fragile skull. She was vulnerable, defenseless in ways that he could scarcely fathom now. He hoped Damian could see that, could understand the importance of the task Bruce was laying before him.

“You will be her big brother,” Bruce continued softly. “That is a solemn charge that you cannot take lightly. As closest to her in age, she’ll look up to you. As she grows, she’ll mimic you—your words, your actions, your behaviors. Which means you’ll be in a unique position, perhaps more than any of us, to influence the person she becomes. Do you understand?”

Damian was staring at the baby with renewed interest and, Bruce thought, a touch of trepidation. “I… understand.”

The little one, by chance or by some divine stroke of good fortune, chose that moment to pull her attention from the thumb she was gnawing on and look up at Damian. There was a keenness there, a little spark of humanity and intent as she studied Damian in the same way he studied her.

Bruce ruffled his second-youngest’s hair. “Come along. We have much to prepare before the others get home.”

“They don’t know, do they?” Damian asked as he pulled away and let Bruce stand.

“No.”

“This will be fun,” Damian declared, letting loose a low laugh that sent a shiver up Bruce’s spine.

* * *

There was an uncomfortable amount of staring going on. And for Bruce to be the one to say so, that was an extreme amount of staring. Bruce’s various children sat scattered around the den, forming a loose ring around the newcomer in the center of the rug.

They had all arrived home at roughly the same time—thankfully _after_ a feeding, a nap, and two diaper changes. (Bruce was already uncomfortably aware of how different life was going to become.) After a shorter than expected period of exclamations, Cass, Duke, and Tim had settled in to study the baby.

“You can’t keep calling her ‘the baby,’” Dick had said, exasperated, when he had arrived and been introduced. Then he had reached for the baby with an eagerness that had surprised Bruce and angered Damian, inciting several minutes of snipping from the latter.

That was something new, the idea of being able to name a child himself. She couldn’t stay Kitten, of course. It was a silly name, but more than that, it linked her too clearly to Catwoman. Somehow, choosing a name felt like a larger responsibility than all of his former child-rearing experience put together.

_My car is called the Batmobile,_ Bruce thought despairingly as he watched his children watch each other.

“So does she do anything?” Tim asked. He was eyeing the baby in the same way he might a particularly florid insect—with interest, scientific remove, and no small amount of wariness.

Cass wrinkled her nose but didn’t comment.

“She’s a baby,” Duke pointed out with the typical fond exasperation he had picked up once the shine of the Manor had worn off. “What do you expect her to do?”

The baby in question was currently lying on her stomach and gabbling to herself as she pawed at the rug’s weave.

“She tried to eat her own foot earlier,” Damian offered.

“I think that’s a thing babies do. I don’t know why.” A furrow had formed between Tim’s eyebrows, one that usually led to a string of all-nighters down the research rabbit hole. Bruce made a mental note to check in on him over the next few days, then realized he might be up himself with the baby. Did children her age sleep all night yet?

Why had he thought it was a good idea to bring a baby into a family of only children?

Dick had sprawled on his stomach in front of the baby, chin cradled on his hands as he made faces and tried to elicit a laugh. In between grimaces, he asked, “So when will Jason be here?”

Bruce’s brain made a sparking noise, like a fork left in the microwave.

Dick looked up at the silence. “Bruce. You called Jason. Right?”

Now all the staring was focused on _him_.

“I thought he was out of town?” Bruce offered weakly. He had. Last he’d heard from Jay, his son was headed abroad for some sort of something with Roy Harper and Bizarro. Bruce had gotten the impression that too many details would make his eye twitch, so he hadn’t pressed. He wasn’t sure when they were supposed to get back, but he had assumed… that is, he hadn’t thought…

“There’s always one,” Dick sighed. He lifted a hand, waved it at Bruce’s pocket. “Call him.”

Jason picked up on the fifth ring. “YEH-llo.” There was wind in the background, and the honking of traffic.

“Hello. Jason.” Bruce cleared his throat. “Are you in Gotham?”

“Uh, yeah? Got back on Monday. Why?” Why, why, why. Why were his children so distrustful, that’s what Bruce wanted to know. He slanted a glance down at the baby, who was now gumming on her own hand. The others around her watched with clinical interest.

“Could you come by the Manor tonight?”

“I _could_ ,” Jason said slowly, then turned his attention away to cuss out a careless driver. Bruce waited stoically. “Why?”

Bruce blew out a breath. “There’s something…”

“Is someone dead?” Jason asked.

“No, no one’s—Jason.”

“Kidnapped?”

“No.”

“Are you tossing my stuff?”

“What st–“

“In my room.”

“Wh—Jason, no.” Bruce squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Could you please just come—“

“WwwAAAAH!”

Bruce opened his eyes and stared at the baby shrieking inches from his face. Duke stood behind her, his hands clamped under her arms, and stared back impassively as she squealed into the phone.

“B, what the—“ Bruce fought the urge to cover the baby’s ears, even though he was the only one who could hear the voice on the other end.

Through gritted teeth, he repeated, “Please come by the Manor.”

The wind whistled down the line, and then there was a muttered, “I’ll be there in twenty” before the phone clicked dead.

“He’ll be here shortly,” Bruce announced to the room.

There was an ominous gurgle from the baby. Duke looked at her, then at Bruce, then quickly handed her over. “Not it.”

From behind him rose a chorus of similar avowals, all except for Damian, who asked, “What’s not it?”

Bruce frowned at the room. “All of you, up. The new training regimen begins now.”

“Training regimen?” Tim echoed.

“Code Brown,” Duke intoned mournfully.

“Yuck,” said Cass as she pushed to her feet.

“What are you _talking_ about?” demanded Damian.

* * *

Helena Wayne was officially and quietly adopted two weeks later.

_Helena, meaning bright, shining light_ , Bruce had explained almost bashfully to Selina. Selina, who had left town the same night Helena went home to the Manor but who saw each of Bruce’s texts and left the read receipt on so he would know. Selina, whose name meant moon. _So she’ll always know where she came from._

Because of Bruce’s wealth and influence in Gotham’s legal system, he was able to arrange a private ceremony in the Manor with a judge attending. The paperwork was to be quickly filed, sealed, and buried, the news kept off the internet and out of the gossip rags. Over the years, Bruce had gotten very good at burying news about his children. The legislation that he’d helped champion regarding the treatment of minors in the media hadn’t hurt either.

Sooner or later, word would get out. Bruce Wayne, billionaire baby daddy, was a story too juicy to remain hidden for long. But by the time it did come out, Bruce hoped that there would be enough time and distance between the Helena Wayne and Kitten Kyle.

Bruce held Helena against his chest and bounced subtly as he listened to Commissioner Gordon bicker with Babs. Around them, their nearest and dearest mingled, sipping drinks out of slender flutes and carrying tiny plates piled high with finger foods. The gathering’s mood had been a compromise, a way to keep the balance between Alfred’s decorum and Bruce’s reticence, to include those in the life and those out of it, while keeping those who deserved to be close, closest.

Across the room, Stephanie let out one of her high, witchy cackles that always made Bruce smile inside. He looked over and saw her gesturing wildly at Diana and Lois, both of whom looked amused in return. His other children were scattered about the room, talking to each other or the other guests. With each adoption, the celebrations had gotten smaller but more precious, the attendees a guard set in place, their names like a chant against hardship and a hymn of thankfulness.

_This time will be different._ The thought—prayer? hope?—had been Bruce’s constant companion for two weeks, an ever-reverberating echo in the back of his mind. He loved his children for who they were, as they were, but with each of them he held private regrets. Choices he had made, situations he had misread, his own failures and flaws shooting him in the back again and again. But this time. _This_ time…

There was always tension with a new addition, and this time was no exception. There had been drama and strife, poorly hidden jealousy and shy uncertainty as the routines of the Manor shifted to accommodate the changes. Bruce had thought he could guess how each of his children would fare, and he’d been wrong across the board. But he was handling it. They were handling it, together, as a family should.

Helena would grow up knowing she was loved, knowing she was wanted. Not assuming but doubting, not being told and forever wondering. She would know. Bruce vowed it, down in the deepest part of his heart, the core of him that let him lead a team of aliens and demigods, that made a double life possible and dressing as an armored animal a feasible life choice. A life choice he would not let the baby in his arms emulate.

_This time will be different. You will be loved. You will be safe. You will be cared for. You will be normal and healthy and happy and whole._

Bruce buried his nose in Helena’s curls and breathed deep, enjoying the soft smells of no-tears baby shampoo and clean scalp. Her little hands scrabbled at his watch, blunted fingernails ticking against the platinum exterior, happily preoccupied as they both faced the still bantering Gordons. She was already a wonder to him, his little moonbeam, a mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a taffeta-heavy party dress with a matching headband.

To his right, a camera flashed. Bruce looked over in time to see Dick smile and lower his phone. A moment later, Bruce’s pocket buzzed. Without pulling it out to look, he mouthed a thanks to his son for a memory he knew he would cherish later. Then he lifted a finger. Dick nodded and gave Bruce time to straighten, to turn Helena toward the camera, and wait for the second flash.

This time when Bruce’s pocket buzzed, Dick stepped forward and lifted his baby sister from his father’s arms before waltzing in time with the music to where Damian and Duke were gobbling down canapés. Bruce slipped his phone out of his pocket and looked down at the image. There he stood, dressed impeccably in a dove grey Armani suit and midnight blue tie that matched the fabric of Helena’s dress. He realized he looked like his father, but with airbrushed grey hairs and crow’s feet lines that Thomas Wayne had never had the time to gather.

He realized he looked happy.

Bruce sent the photo to an unlisted number along with a two-word text: _Thank you._

Twelve seconds later, the text was marked read.

Bruce shut off his phone and looked to Alfred, who was watching him with a placid intensity.

“Is all well, Master Bruce?”

Bruce took a deep breath and let the noise of the party wash over him—the quiet murmur of the music, the bubbling spatter of laughter, the overlapping hum of voices, all familiar and cherished, overlapping in conversation.

“Yes, Alfred. All is well."

**Author's Note:**

> I blame audreycritter for this fic existing. She told me about Helena, Selina Kyle’s daughter who may or may not be Bruce’s depending on the universe and who Selina may or may not have given up for adoption. It’s a whole thing with all the typical comic complexities. But one thing we both agreed on was that no way would Bruce let his maybe-kid go stay with random strangers, and. Well.
> 
> The sub-parness of the fic is completely on me, though. This dumb thing demanded it be written and then didn't help me out at all. (Dear fic, giving me an absurd amount of headcanons doesn't help with, y'know, sentence structure and stuff. IDEK what that ending was. This is your fault, fic.)


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